the last month

of New Zealand. (For this year) and only 17 days of it under these long white clouds the weather has turned her kind face towards us. Last night I ate charcoal-oiled onions smelling like cool summer dusk, and watched fireworks spinning from behind a friendly wooden pole, and wrapped my arms around people who know me well enough to brush the hair out of my eyes. A little boy took off my socks and shoes. and put them on the floor, next to his. and then I washed them all, and they blew wet cotton flags outside my door. a vibrant and lovely expression of humanity and today I chose to cry for good reasons, instead of bad ones. Last month. and with it the certainty - I made something here and I will be just fine